


Cherry Coke Special

by fictive_frolic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut, domestic violence mentions, mob!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22450366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: Bucky comes to the diner looking for a slice of pie and some coffee. He finds you.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 59
Kudos: 395





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky Barnes had grown up in the lap of luxury. His father had been a savvy businessman. Both legally and illegally. He’d walked the line. And now Bucky tried to do the same.

But this wasn’t his father’s world. It was a new world. One he could have never dreamed of working at an old oak desk with a calculator and a rotary phone. Well into the ’80s. Computers were the order of the day. Computers and hedonism. Excess. And the woman across the table from him was no exception.

She was blonde. Tan. Fit. Had had some really well-done surgery. And all she wanted was his money. Not like Bucky cared really. This type of girl didn’t question where it came from. But this kind of girl looked around the diner like it was Alien terrain. It was late and snow was falling outside. Settling over cars and streets like a thick down blanket.

There was no one else. No one else had wanted to brave the weather. Leaving Bucky and his girl as the only people in the dining room. “Bucky,” she whined, wiping fussily at the table, “why are we here?”

“Doll,” he said with a sigh, “I told you you could stay home.”

“I wanted to know where you were going,” she said practically, “Make sure it wasn’t a titty bar.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and turned his attention back to his menu. He had a soft spot for greasy little diners. They had decent coffee. Cute waitresses. And homemade pie. They reminded him of his dad. His dad had loved little diners too. Out of the way places where nothing was sketchy and it was easy to convince feds that he was just out with his son.

Quiet footsteps attract his attention and a girl. A pretty girl. Too pretty to be working in a joint like this, wearing a butter yellow dress and white apron. Her face is done up like a pinup but… delicate. Appropriate to work in. And plump cherry red lips. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“Do you have sparkling water?” Rena asked, gearing up to throw a fit.

“No, I’m sorry, we don’t. We do have really good iced tea though,” you suggest.

“Is it sparkling?” she asked you in a voice usually reserved for children.

“No,” you answer calmly. Bucky can see the start of a tantrum. He can see it so clearly his head already hurts.

“She’ll have the tea,” Bucky cuts in, calmly, giving his companion a meaningful look.

“And for you sir?” you ask, turning big luminous eyes his direction.

“Coffee, Sugar,” he says with a smile, “Thank you.”

“Cream?” you ask jotting it down.

“Yes, please.”

You nod and go to fill the order, thankful that they’re your only table. You’re exhausted. It’s been a long week and all you want to do is make your day off tomorrow. You’ve been working days and nights for so long. Sleeping in snatches to try and keep going. Working to keep your boyfriend in med school, trying to give him the time he needed to study.

“Sugar?” Rena asked, arching a perfectly sculpted brow.

Bucky half shrugged, “I didn’t get a peek at her name tag.”

Rena doesn’t have time to growl at him, you arrive back at the table with drinks for them. “Thank you,” Bucky said, arranging the coffee cup and cream to his liking. You smile brightly but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Now that you’re still for a moment, you look tired.

“What can I get you to eat?” you ask, taking your order pad out again.

“I’ll take some pancakes,” he said, “Bacon extra crispy.”

“Do you have anything fat free and low carb?” Rena asked.

“The fruit plate is nice,” you suggest helpfully.

“Anything hot?” she says staring at you like you might be slow.

“She’ll have the Fruit plate, Thank you,” Bucky said, giving her a look. He can’t stand when people are rude to servers. When they look for shit to be mad about. Bratty behavior is fine. He enjoys it sometimes. But not with people that make minimum wage. Rena sighs dramatically and Bucky smiles at you apologetically, “I’ll just have a slice of pie.”

“Flavor?” you ask, “We have Apple, Cherry, Pecan, and Coconut cream.”

“Cherry,” he said smiling a little, thinking of your lips. They look delicious and… if he weren’t attached he’d probably be trying to talk you into a taste.

“Ooo, good choice,” you say, jotting it down, “Want it warmed up?”

“With Ice cream,” he added, nodding, “Thanks, Sugar.”

You drift away and he takes a sip of his coffee. You hadn’t said anything other than polite work talk. Things you’d say to any customer. But he liked you. Nothing about Rena had rattled you, not her fur coat, not her nails, not her alarming amount of cleavage. Nothing. And that. That had been nice. Rena was used to people snapping to and doing whatever she wanted. Bending over backward to give her what she asked for to avoid conflict. You hadn’t and, Bucky was willing to bet that you wouldn’t have.

When you come back to the table not long after, Rena is hissing at him like an angry snake. Viper whispers about how much trouble he was in for flirting with you. The smile she gives you is bright and brittle. If Bucky weren’t there she’d be threatening to scratch your eyes out. And Bucky is frankly embarrassed. It wasn’t as if she loved him. She loved his money. She loved the red bottom shoes and fun little vacations. Apology handbags and flowers she could show off to her girlfriends. And Bucky found that just now, he didn’t care. All he’d wanted was a moment away. A slice of pie. Some coffee. And a second to breathe. He’d wanted to feel like a normal guy. Just for an hour. To not have to worry about “imports” or “exports” or his books or his crew. Or a turf war that was just waiting to happen.

But then, Rena had happened. She had insisted that he was going out to fuck around on her. She was still insistent that he was going to fuck around. But he wasn’t. Hell, you had work to do. Work to do that didn’t involve riding his dick. Even if he’d kinda like you to. He had a thing for girls that could say a lot with very little. Currently, you were leaning on the counter with a laptop, typing hurriedly. Your fingers are flying over keys easily and it’s soothing. You keep your distance, keeping cups refilled and keeping up on things that they needed. You were intuitive, despite evidently doing some other work at the same time.

But, Bucky can’t really ask what you’re doing. Rena is a force to be reckoned with if she feels like someone is trying to step up to her man. Thankfully, Bucky reflects, you probably have someone waiting for you at home. Or at least some self-respect. That was good. A novel concept, he snorted to himself thinking of Rena. Still, he pays his tab and drops money on the table for you. A pretty chunk of change. Enough, he thought that maybe you could get something you really wanted.

You disappear around the corner, headed back into the kitchen for who knows what and Bucky ushers Rena out. He left enough on the table to cover his tab and probably make up for the tips you weren’t making due to the weather. He nodded to himself and smiled a little. That would do it. At the very least you’d remember who he was if he ever stopped by again. And, as he watched Rena scroll through her phone irritably, he figured it was a likely possibility.

_______________

In the aftermath of his break up with Rena, he found himself back in the Diner. He didn’t really expect you to be working. Let alone that you’d have the time to chat with him. But still, he’s thankful that it was another slow night.

The music playing is a soft sweet little love song and you’re in the middle of bussing a table for some people that had just left. “I’ll be right with you,” you call, hearing the bell, “Take a seat anywhere.” You hustle to clean the table and hustle back out with a smile and a glass of water for him.

“Coffee?” you ask brightly.

Bucky sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, Sugar, thanks.”

“Rough day?” you ask, sympathetic.

“Yeah,” he said, “But it’s nothing a night off can’t fix.”

You make a soft noise and go to get him his coffee and cream. Bucky watches you grab a mug and a coffee carafe in one hand and a small container of cream in the other. Your little white sneakers and yellow uniform remind him of being a kid. Back when t-shirts and jeans weren’t uniforms. You pour his coffee deftly and set his cream down, “What can I get you to eat?”

“Do you guys do patty melts?” he asks.

“Do we do patty melts?” you tease, “What kind of establishment do you think this is. Of course, we do.” You tut at him and start jotting it down. “Fries okay?”

“Fries are fine, Sugar,” he says smiling. Somehow you had managed to set him at ease with a smile and a joke and now, the knots in his stomach from the stress had faded a little. You give him a smile and flounce off to put his order in. That done, you drift over to your laptop again to get some work done for your day job and Bucky listens to the rapid typing. He smiles a little, “What’re you working on?” he calls, “School stuff?”

“Stuff for my day job,” you answer, looking up and adjusting a pair of reading glasses.

“What’s that?” he asked, “You a teacher?”

“Close,” you tell him, “I’m a house manager for a transitional program for addicts.”

He whistled, “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Only if you can’t read a room,” you say shrugging, “By the time people get to my program they’re recovering. We exist to help give them a solid start to getting their life back.”

“So why you here at night?” Bucky asked sipping his coffee.

“Gotta pay my bills somehow,” you say shrugging, “My boyfriend is in med school and he can’t work and do that… so working here picks up some of the slack.”

Bucky nods, feeling a little disappointed. He figured you had someone at home. A girl like you, a real class act was something any guy was lucky to find. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

“It could be worse. At least my documentation is always done,” you say shrugging, coming to refill his coffee.

“You ain’t tired?” he asked.

“They give me free coffee,” you say with a wink.

“Oh well,” he snorts, “Sign me up.”

“Hey. Job perks, man. Gotta take ‘em where you can get ‘em.”

Bucky smiles a little, “How much longer you gotta keep all that up?”

“As long as it takes,” you answer, “He does better when he doesn’t have to multi-task like that, you know?”

Bucky makes a soft sound and adds cream, “How many hours do you wind up working a day?”

You shrug, “It depends. Today? Somewhere in the neighborhood of 16. Tomorrow I’ve got the night off here but I’m running a double at the house since we have state coming in for inspection.”

Bucky shakes his head, “That’s… that also sounds like hell.”

“It could be worse, they’re coming to do the inspection on first shift. So I just gotta do the grunt work to get everything ready on second and third shift the night before.”

Your bell dings with your signal and you turn to get his order, hustling across the floor.

“Sugar can I get a Coke, too?” he calls.

You nod and get ice before filling the glass and shove a bottle of ketchup in your apron pocket before you head back over with his plate, handing him ketchup. “Anything else?” you ask.

“This looks great,” he says appreciatively, “Maybe a piece of pie… We’ll see how much damage I can do to this first.”

You nod and head back over to your laptop, starting to work again, taking advantage of a few minutes of downtime. Bucky spent more time watching you than he did eating. He had a thing for competence. He liked smart women. He respected them. And he hoped that your boyfriend did too.

Though, when a tall, frankly storybook handsome blonde with a cocky smile and a backpack walked in, stealing a kiss over the counter, something told him that that wasn’t true. Your shoes are white. Clean. But not remotely supportive enough for running on this concrete. His are Nike. And new. He supposes they could be a gift but. He’s just. He’s really well put together for someone that should have been in class. And it genuinely rubs Bucky the wrong way when he asks you for money to eat.

“Babe,” you remind him, “There’s still leftover ribs in the fridge.”

“But I really want pizza,” he said.

You sigh and hand him a small wad of ones from your bag. The money you were saving to get some new headphones and a manicure. You just want to not have to do your nails yourself. He takes the money and kisses your cheek before heading out the door, leaving you to work.

Bucky also doesn’t miss that he doesn’t thank you.

After he leaves you come to refill his coffee, “Everything okay?” you ask brightly.

“Fine, Sugar,” he says making a mental note to leave you another nice tip. Not only are you good at keeping his drinks filled but you’re a sweetheart. A nice girl. The kind of girl his ma would just adore.

Too bad you’re with somebody that doesn’t seem to care all that much


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky stirred his coffee idly and listened to Steve on the other end. His right hand was currently having a conniption. Bucky was on his second prayer for patience.

“Stevie,” he cut in, “Take a breath, punk. Look. It’s late. We’re not gonna be able to do anything about it until morning. And if we have to write this off as a loss, well. That’s just one less thing to pay for when we file taxes.”

He listened for a minute, “I know that,” he answered, “Christ. Take a Xanax and a nap.” He hangs up shortly after and smiles at you as you refill his coffee. You’re tired today, he can tell. You’re moving a little slow. Like your feet hurt and maybe your backaches. “Thanks, Y/N,” he murmured. 

You make a soft noise and give him a smile. “You okay?” he asks gently. 

“Just a long day,” you tell him, tilting your head to stretch your neck. “Just trying to make it to my day off.”

Bucky nods, “Got any plans?”

“Whatever Rory wants to do, I guess,” you say, shrugging, going to see to your other table real quick.

Rory. It had been weeks and never once had Bucky seen him come see you at work just to say hi. He only ever came in to get money. Or food. Or complain that something in the house wasn’t done. And god help you if you didn’t have cash on you. Enough to buy whatever it was he wanted. He was a whiny little shit. And he didn’t deserve a girl like you. Didn’t deserve a girl that worked that hard for him. Bucky wished he could find a girl like you. One that loyal and kind.

“What about what you wanna do, Sugar?” he asks, as you go to buss the table across from his,

“I mean, he’s doing all the hard work,” you say. You don’t look at him. You shrug and focus on your table. And Bucky gets the sense that he crossed a line somewhere. Your tone has changed, just slightly, getting a little flatter. The work equivalent of getting defensive, he figured. But he doesn’t care.

“This ain’t work?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

You don’t answer, and he just watches you for a second. If it were one of his crew, he’d be yelling and demanding that they answer him. But he’s seen what happens when someone raises their voice at you. It a great big drunk guy one night. Belligerent. Rude. You’d been lagging a little. Hands full running the front of the house, tables full, and just you to serve them. He’d shouted at you, and you’d just. Shut down. Hustling to keep going and ignore the yelling. Bucky had had a quiet word with the guy. Reminding him of his manners. He hated that look on your face. The deer in the headlights, panicked look. 

If it were anyone else, he’d demand answers. But it’s Friday. It’s payday, and so Rory will be here to get money. For what, Bucky doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand why the guy can’t work somewhere. He doesn’t understand why the guy is so okay with you working like a dog to keep the bills paid. Then has the gall to complain at you for getting your nails done or buying yourself a little treat. 

He hates it.

If he had his way, you’d get whatever you wanted. Hell, you’d not have to work again unless you wanted to. You could do whatever little pretty girl things you wanted to do, and Bucky would be thrilled to let you. As long as it meant coming home to your kisses. 

As if one Cue, just when Bucky is about to ask you something else, Rory waltzes through the door. Like he always does. With a cocky smile and a swagger, he hasn’t earned. You have a quiet conversation with him at the register, and he’s getting loud. Really loud as you frantically try to get him to lower his voice when people turn to look. Bucky tenses when he reaches towards you and grabs your forearm to jerk you closer, getting in your face. You look startled. And ashamed. And hurt. And Bucky would love to find this punk in a dark alley one night. 

But, when a polite elderly couple steps to the counter to pay, he half pushes you away from him and slinks out. Bucky takes advantage of your distraction with other customers and follows him. 

“Hey,” he shouts, following him out of sight of the door.

Rory stops, and half turns, lighting a cigarette, “Yeah?”

“That your girl in there?” Bucky asked casually. Up close, Rory looks like he might be high. And he smells like a perfume that isn’t yours. And Bucky feels his heartache for you. 

“Yeah, what of it?” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“You make a habit of grabbing her like that?” Bucky said, folding his arms.

Rory snorts, “The fuck do you care?”

“I can because you shouldn’t be doing it… Someone,” he says, pausing meaningfully, “Might get the wrong idea.” Bucky’s voice had sunk to a predatory whisper, and Rory’s back stiffened.

“Someone, huh?” he said, puffing himself up. 

“Someone a lot less nice than me,” he warned, “I see you do that again, and I’ll break your fucking hand.”

Rory went to swing at him, and Bucky stepped out of the way deftly, letting his fist meet brick. It’s a shitty punch. One that Bucky can practically hear breaking his hand, “I mean. Unless you do it for me,” he laughs.”

“Fuck you,” he said, “Like I haven’t seen you in here before. All that money and you’re slumming it trying to get with Y/N? What’s wrong? Tiny dick?”

Bucky smiled. It was a transparent attempt to get under his skin. 

“You think that bitch’ll ever-” Less transparent. And it worked. Bucky cracked him in the jaw. Hard. 

“One more word,” Bucky warns, “And they’ll never find your body.”

He can’t deal with that piece of shit insulting you. Insinuating that you’re less than class. Using anything that’ not an endearment instead of your name. That he can’t stomach. 

Rory picked himself up off the ground and Bucky stayed, arms folded, staring, “You treat her right,” he said, “Or I’m gonna get angry.”

____________________

Bucky slips back into the diner and adjusts his jacket before sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee. 

You’d kept going as if nothing happened. But he could hear your phone ringing behind the counter. It gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and he prayed you didn’t hear it. Or at least wouldn’t answer at work. 

He wasn’t ashamed of what he had done and he’d do it again. And again if he had to. He just hated the idea that he might have made it worse for you. That worried him. So he picked up his own phone and waited for it to ring.

“Nat,” he said quietly, “I need you to put surveillance together for me.”

“Rumlow?” she asked, instantly alert.

“Diner girl,” Bucky clarified, “I think I might have fucked up.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky walked into the diner a couple days later. Partly to see you. Partly to give your tail a couple hours off. But, when he walked through the doors, you weren’t there. 

There was another girl with a pink uniform and different hair. Makeup that was less pin-up and more stripper. He glanced at the clock. He scanned the crowd, thinking you might have slid into a booth to bus a table. But there was no you. 

And it took him all of four seconds to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

He pulled out his phone and dialed your tail, “Hey, fuckwit,” he barked, “Where’s the girl?”

“We’re looking, Boss. She left her day job 30 minutes ago and never made it to her apartment. I sent Rock ahead to see if her car was there.”

“Find her!” he snapped, “I don’t trust that weaselly little bastard as far as I can throw him.” He hangs up, trusting that his orders are gonna be followed and calls the next person he needs to talk to, “Nat,” he says, trying to stay calm, “I need you and Sam to start calling around to hospitals. Find a Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Already on it,” she said, “And I sent Barton to go snoop her apartment.”

“You’re a saint,” he said, some of the tension in his shoulders relax. If anyone could find you, Nat could. That was her area of expertise. Finding people. She’d been doing it all her life, and he had complete faith in her abilities. What he doesn’t have confidence in is Rory’s better nature. He doesn’t think that Rory is ever gonna get the message.

He stopped the car and pulled over, taking a second to breathe. And for a second, he wondered in the prayer to St. Anthony worked on lost people. He wasn’t even really sure he remembered the words. But. He wasn’t just gonna be sitting on his thumbs and waiting for everyone else to find you. You deserve better. You deserve to be kept safe. Someone needs to take care of you. 

He isn’t sure what direction he’s driving. He takes some of the information his tail gave him. Shops you like. Stores you stop at. Friends you’ve visited. It’s been two days, and there isn’t much to go on. Practically none. You work. You go home. Sometimes you take a run. And that’s it. That’s all he knows. 

But, when his phone rings and Natasha takes a deep breath, he knows.

“Which hospital?” he asks, voice dangerous. 

“Memorial,” she answers, “Bucky it’s… it’s bad. Steve’ll meet you there.”

Bucky doesn’t say a word. He hangs up the phone and whips the car around, headed towards the hospital. He doesn’t know what to do. Or tell you when he gets there but he can’t go. He has a sneaking suspicion that what happened to you was all his fault. Because he just had to swoop in, pounding on his chest and declare you important to him. Because he knew you were with someone else and went and caught feelings, something he swore he wouldn’t do. 

When he parks in the garage, it’s a blur. And Steve, god bless him, has to practically run to keep up with him as he finds his way through the labyrinth. But he knows hospitals. He’s been here enough times when one of his guys has been hurt. 

When he finds your room, he stops at the door and hesitates for just a second. His hand hovering over the door handle.

“Bucky,” Steve urges, “Go.”

“I feel like I did this to get Stevie,” he said softly. 

“So make it right,” he prompts. Steve’s heart twisted for his friend. He did bad things, but he was a good man, and the thought of someone innocent, someone he loved, was hurt because of something he’d done… It bothered him a lot. He was one of the few people who had ever seen Bucky vulnerable. And he knew first hand how soft Bucky could get for a pretty girl who could make him feel comfortable. And he knew Bucky was soft for you. Hell. The bank statements for how often he went to the diner, and the tips he left were proof enough for Steve. And Steve didn’t mind. Bucky deserved a girl who actually cared about him.

He watched as Bucky opened the door and step into the room, he took a spot against the wall outside and folded his arms, doing his best to look slightly intimidating. 

Bucky stopped in the doorway and looked down at you. You seemed so small, and it made his chest hurt. You were small and broken. An arm in a cast, a cut on your eye, and bruising along the side of your face. He was willing to bet some bruised ribs too. If not broken. And probably a nasty concussion. 

He crossed the floor quietly, careful not to startle you and takes a seat. When you open your eyes slowly, he smiles a little, “Hey, Sugar,” he murmurs.

You turn your head to look up at him, and his heart just breaks. Tears start welling up, and he isn’t sure if it’s from the physical pain or the emotional pain, but he itches to make it stop. “I don’t understand what I did,” you tell him quietly. 

“What’d he say to you?” Bucky asked, staying composed. Or trying to. But there was a fury in his chest, seeing your confusion and the tears. 

“He told me I’d been fucking around on him,” you say, wiping away tears. “Said I was trash. That… that the baby wasn’t his and-” you start crying in earnest, and Bucky blinks in shock. He doesn’t know what to say. And he wants to get up and run out of the room find that shit heel and tear him apart. 

“Baby?” he asked softly, kissing the hand he’s holding. 

You nod, “I just- I just found out last week.”

Bucky nodded, “You can’t go back to him, sweetheart.” He doesn’t want to press. He doesn’t want to tell you what you need but the thought of Rory touching you made his skin crawl.

“I’m not,” you murmur, “My mama is coming with my brother to pack up my stuff and move me home.”

“Home? Where’s that?”

“A couple hours away,” you answer, “A little town upstate.”

Bucky frowns, he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want you where he can’t protect you easily. “What-” he stops. He wants to ask “What about us?” but. There is no “us” there’s you. You and your baby. And you need to do what’s best for the two of you. But something about your face when you think about home tells him you might not be sure.

“What about your job?” he asks. 

“I don’t have a place to stay here,” you tell him exhaling slowly.

“I can help you,” Bucky offers. The words are out before he can think about it. “I- I have an apartment I’ve been trying to sublease.”

You give him a little smile and shake your head, “Something tells me that if a mob boss can afford it, I decidedly can’t.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow and you give him a look, “Not too many people who come into that diner wear bespoke suits and silk shirts… or have the FBI send agents in to ask me what we talked about.”

He grins, “What’d you tell ‘em?”

“That you were a nice guy. Tipped well. And liked Patty melts and the Cherry coke,” you answer primly. 

Bucky could kiss you. He really could. He knew that if you’d figured that out you could have figured out a lot of things. Even in code from his end of the conversation.

“Doll,” he says softly, “You don’t wanna go home. Let me help. You don’t wanna work in the kitchen at your mama’s restaurant. I know you don’t.” He kisses your hand, “Please? This is my fault. Let me do something.”

“Your fault?” you ask.

Bucky winces, “The other night, I saw Rory grab you. It- I can’t stand when men put their hands on women… So I stepped in after he left. Cracked him in the jaw and told him to treat you better. Told him if I ever saw him touch you that way again I was gonna get mad.”

“Bucky-” you gasp.

“I know. I knew as soon as he walked away from me that I’d made it worse for you… I shouldn’t have just put a tail on you. I should have made you come to stay with me then… I’m sorry, Sugar.”

You exhale slowly, “This isn’t the first time he hit me,” you murmur. “I hoped, maybe when I told him about the baby he’d get better. And he did. For a couple days.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear tenderly, “What are you gonna do, Sugar?” he asked softly. He wants to ask for specifics. He wants to know if you’re keeping the baby. 

“Keep my kid as far away from their dad as I can,” you say softly.

Bucky nods, “So everything…”

“They’re keeping me under observation tonight,” you explain quietly, “My arm got broken trying to protect my stomach but… There was still a heartbeat.”

“Let me help?” he pleaded, “Please? I have an apartment I’m not using in my building. Just across from mine… at least. At least come look at it? It’s a nice little place, doll. Two bedrooms.”

You nod slowly and he smiles a little. You look so tired. Too tired to fight him on this and for that he’s thankful. He tucks the blankets around you gently and leans over to kiss your forehead. “Get some sleep, Sugar,” he soothed. “I’ll take care of everything, okay? I’m gonna make this right for you.”

You make a soft noise and he smiles, “Nope,” he scolds, you just relax and sleep. I’ll put someone outside your room and I’ll come pick you up tomorrow, okay?” He hesitates for a moment when you don’t answer but, brushes another kiss against your forehead to go make his plans. 

He was going to make this right. And even as he tried to tell himself that that didn’t include raising this guy’s baby, he knew he was lying to himself. He just had to convince you it was a good idea.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky let himself into his mother’s house through the kitchen. Like he always had. People who were supposed to be there used the back door. It’d been that way as long as he could remember. 

The same way, the kitchen had always been bright and cheerful. His parent’s house was a study in understated comfort. It wasn’t a mansion. It was a family home. Wood floors, squashy furniture, and throw pillows. Family photos on the wall. And like so many of his childhood memories, his ma poking around in the kitchen.

“Hey, ma,” he said, kissing her cheek and hefting himself up on a counter.

“Ah, yes. There’s my firstborn,” she scolded fondly, “Too busy to call your mother?”

“Sorry,” he said, contrite, “It’s been a long day.”

She reached up and mimed punching him in the jaw, “Don’t I know it. Steve and Natasha kept me filled in… This girl, she okay?”

“A little worse for wear, but… they’re letting her out of the hospital tomorrow.” She stops and looks up at him, gauging what she can say and what she can’t. Like his father, her son is a good man. He’s got a good heart. But he’s got a hard head and an eye for a pretty girl in trouble. Those two things don’t always add up to good judgment.

“And you love her?” she pressed.

“Yeah,” he said softly, smiling a little. You were brave. And smart. And kind. Fierce, self-reliant, loyal… everything he’d been looking for. His mom raises an eyebrow. She knew that look. And that wasn’t the look he got when he was dating one of his other… women. The ones he kept to warm his bed and occupy his time.

“But?” she pressed.

“There’s no but, ma,” he insisted, “I’m gonna make this right for her. I messed up. I got in the way, and she got hurt. But she’s okay. And the baby’s okay. Now they need a place to go. So I’m gonna give her that.”

“Baby?” Winifred asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Bucky nodded and took a deep breath.

“Yours?” she asked.

He shook his head, “No. The ex that just put her in the hospital.” He watched his mother nod and give him a slightly incredulous look. “Ma,” he protested, “She’s a good girl. Loyal. She never even so much as flirted with me in the diner… I don’t care if this isn’t my kid. They need somewhere to go… and I can’t let her throw her whole career away to go back and work at her mama’s restaurant.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Except she left her home town for a good reason. And I’d hate to see her throw away everything she built. All the things she worked for.”

“What’s she do?” she asked.

“She runs a program for addicts… helps ‘em get back on their feet,” Bucky said.

Winifred smiles a little, “So she’s not just a centerfold?”

“No,” Bucky snorted, “She’s brilliant. Works hard. She was working two jobs to keep her ex in med school.”

She nodded, “And if she doesn’t want your help?”

Then,” he hesitated, “I’ll have to let her go. Let her raise her kid and just… help keep Rory away from her.”

His mother patted his cheek and sighed, “You and your pretty girls.”

“Dad would like her,” Bucky said, smiling a little, “So will you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she said, handing him a beer, “You hungry, baby?”

“I could eat,” he answers, jumping down off the counter. He knows better than to say no. If he says no, she’ll just send him with enough leftovers to feed a small army and pout at him about working too hard.

____________

When part of Bucky’s crew showed up with tape and boxes, ready to help your mom and your brother pack up your things and move them, Nat is on hand to answer questions. She sets them at ease as best she can, carefully explaining that you had a friend who had a place you could stay. And that he sent people to help them move you. And keep an eye on Rory. 

Bucky showed up to the hospital, a bag with some clean clothes in his hand, “Hey, kid,” he said, smiling a little.

“Hey,” you murmur, struggling to sit up around the pain in your ribs and the cast on your arm. 

“Easy,” he said, rushing forward to help you, kissing your head, “We got time… and I brought you some clothes if you don’t wanna walk around blood-spattered… your ma picked them out of your closet.”

“How’d you get ‘em?” you ask, taking the bag he’s holding out. 

“I dropped by to introduce myself,” he says, smirking, “Couldn’t have your ma thinking I was some sort of degenerate… and it gave your brother a chance to threaten my life if I ever laid a hand on you.”

You quirk an eyebrow, and he smiles, “Sugar if I ever hurt you, I’d let him.” He kisses your forehead, “How do you feel, okay?” 

“I mean… everything hurts but. I guess I’m okay. A little shitty that I can’t go back to work and talk to my clients yet,” you answer.

“You need rest,” he says, smiling a little, “Aside from that, what if I could fix it so you wouldn’t have to work anymore?”

You sigh, “I’m assuming you’re at least kinda joking, but… Seriously. If All I had to do all day was look after a house and kids all day, I’d probably kill myself just for something else to do.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky snorted, helping you to your feet so you could change, “I’ll be right outside.”

He waits patiently, idly scrolling through his phone and listening for any sounds that indicate you might need help. But by the time you do come out, pale and sweating, leaning heavily on the door frame to stay on your feet, Bucky rushes forward to help you. “Jesus,” he breathes, easing you into a chair, “Do they need to keep you another day?” He tilts your chin up, searching your face, “Y/N, are you okay?”

“My ribs are really unhappy about changing shirts,” you explain.

Bucky nodded, “Let’s get you to your new home, huh?” he said, trying not to let on how worried he was. 

“You’re sure about this? I mean. I know I can’t afford whatever you’d charge anyone else for rent.”

“You’ll class the place up, Sugar,” he says, smiling, “ ‘sides. Feds are gonna be thrilled to see I’m housing someone like you. A regular upstanding citizen.”

You snort, “You clearly haven’t done much looking into my background.”

“Family tree got cut down to make rap sheets, huh?” he said fondly.

“Yeah,” you snort, “Mostly, my dad’s.”

Bucky smiles a little and helps the nurse settle you into a wheelchair to get you to the car. It’s a sleek black number. Expensive. Designed to turn heads. And you quirk an eyebrow, “Subtle, Bucky.”

“What can I say? I like my cars like I like my women. Smart, Sexy, and deliciously curvy.”

You roll your eyes, and he grins, opening the door for you. “Your chariot awaits, Princess.”

“I don’t really think I’m the Cinderella type,” you tell him, putting an arm around his neck so he could help you into the car.

“We’ll see about that, Sugar. I’ve always wanted someone I could spoil into a Princess.”

“Bucky,” you scold.

“Not sorry,” he says, chucking you under the chin gently. “I told you I was gonna make this right, Y/N, and I always keep my promises.”


	5. Chapter 5

Move-in day was not near as stressful as Bucky had thought it would be. Your mom and your brother were efficient. Really efficient. It was likely, he figured that you'd moved around a fair bit as a kid.

Your brother was a typical older brother, your mom was quite frankly the one that scared him. Of the two of them, he didn't doubt your mom would be the one to kill him if he hurt you, though, perhaps more out of obligation than love for you. Not once did she hug you or kiss you after you first got out of the car. And she never once mentioned the grandchild you were carrying. It was incredibly odd.

Bucky never heard either of them mention the baby, and it didn't take long for him to figure out that you hadn't told them yet. So he followed your lead.

Your brother was a little more openly affectionate, though it was clear he was quietly furious at what Rory had done. Bucky was comforted when he pulled you aside and had a hushed but very intense discussion about the situation you got yourself into. He loved you enough to worry about you. But not enough to stay, despite wanting to when his ma was ready to go. They had both hugged you and kissed your cheek, and you made them promise to call when they got home. And neither one looked back as they drove away.

"You okay, Sugar?" Bucky asked quietly, helping you up the steps.

"Yeah," you sigh, "Just tired."

Bucky nodded and kissed the side of your head, "Well, let's get you inside and comfortable. Get you some food ordered, you haven't eaten all day." He wants to ask why you haven't told your ma she's about to be a grandma. He wants to ask why she's so distant with both her kids. But there's time. Right now, he wants to get you fed and try and get you relaxed. You look tense. Or like you're about to be sick, he isn't sure. But he doesn't like it.

He helps settle you on the couch and kisses the side of your head, "You like Chinese?" he asked, walking into the kitchen.

"Yeah," you answer quietly. You don't question why he's staying. And you know his apartment is just across the hall. You don't understand why he's doing all this. Not really. But you're glad of the company. You've never slept anywhere alone before. You'd had your mom and brother in the house. Then Rory after that. For seven years after that. And now, somehow, a mob boss is in your kitchen ordering sweet and sour and egg rolls. It's a lot to process.

So when Bucky walks back around the corner and finds you very quietly having a break down into the nearest pillow, he makes a soft noise and kneels in front of you, "Hey, shh, it's okay," his big hands are clumsy as they pet your hair and fumble a linen handkerchief out of his pocket.

"I'm s-so-sorry-" you stutter, trying to pull yourself together. You aren't even sure why you're crying. Not really. Objectively, you know that this is a gift. That this was the best possible outcome of your separation from Rory. That if things had gone differently, you'd be a statistic. Another death. Barely a blurb in the paper about your murder. But between a client finding you bleeding on the ground and Bucky spotting you after that... This is as unlikely as winning the lottery. And now there's even someone who wants to protect you. You have no reason to be crying, but you still can't stop.

"Don't be sorry," he said softly, "You've got a lot on your mind, baby." He doesn't know what to do when a woman is crying, and it's genuine anymore. This isn't a tantrum about presents. This is a broken heart. A body that just can't take much more. And he knows that because ever since he met you, even though you knew he had money and was gonna tip well regardless. You'd never asked him for shit. You hadn't asked him for anything all day except an arm to lean on up the stairs. Hell. You hadn't even asked him for dinner. You'd mentioned going to the store to cook him something. But he doesn't know what to say. All he can do is feel like an idiot and let you cry. When the tears slow down, he gives you a second to wipe your face and goes to get you a glass of water. 

Your hand is trembling when you take it, and he frowns, "We gotta get some food in you," he murmurs, "The little one's gotta be getting hungry." He smiles a little and cups your cheek, pleased when you lean into the touch for a second.

"Probably," you tell him, "I was too nervous to eat earlier."

"About what?"

"About what mama was gonna say. About everything."

Bucky nodded, "And what did she say?"

"Nothing. Which means she's beyond furious... When she calls to yell at me, I'll tell her about the baby then. Just rip the whole bandaid off. At least then, the most she can do from that far away is yell." You look away, and Bucky frowns. He doesn't like that. You could have died. Rory could have killed you in that blind spot in the parking lot. He means to tell you all that, but there's a knock on the door, and he goes to answer it.

His guys don't knock like that, so it's probably the delivery driver. Which is good. He's anxious to get you taken care of, and you'll sleep better with a full stomach. He can't stay all night, but he can stay long enough to get you settled in. He pays the kid, gives him a nice little wad of tip money, and turns back to the living room. "Sit," he scolds, "I can do this. All I want you to do is stay down. It's breaking my heart watching you wince every time you move."

"Bucky-"

"No," he said, kissing your cheek and handing you a soda. "You gotta get better. You got a baby on the way, sweetheart," he reminded gently, "They're gonna need you in fighting shape."

"Helping you get food out isn't exactly strenuous," you pout, taking the plate he hands you.

"No," he allows, "But you've been up too much today. You're supposed to be taking it easy for a bit."

"I did-" you start to protest.

"Look darlin'," he said, laughing, "I know. You're a badass. A real tough cookie. But cracked ribs are cracked ribs, and a broken arm is a broken arm. I know. You could have managed. That isn't the point. The point is I want a healthy mama and a healthy baby. And that means you gotta slow down and let people do shit for you." He takes a bite of his dinner and gives you his best, "I'm not foolin' around" face, "Now," he said softly, "Eat and just be still for a minute. Let me enjoy eating dinner with a pretty girl."

You take a bite obediently but not because he told you to. You take a bite because if you don't distract yourself with something, you're gonna start crying all over again.

Bucky doesn't press anymore. Or scold. But he does keep plying you with food until you protest. "Bucky, if I eat anything else, I'll be sick," you tell him.

He just gives you a sheepish little smile and kisses your cheek, "You're eating for two, though. Had to make sure you ate enough to make up for not eating all day."

"Bucky," you snort, rubbing your stomach, "The baby is just getting started. We're okay."

"Well yeah," he said, putting a hand on yours, "But I wanna keep it that way." He grins up at you, "Bet you'll look real cute with a tummy." His heart stutters just a little. There's a slight curve there where he knows there wasn't before when he met you. He'd love to spend a bit more time lavishing attention on your physical body, but he pulls away gently. Your heart is fragile. Very fragile. And he doesn't want to press his current advantage. Even if you'd enjoy yourself. You need rest, and he has months of fantasies coming to fruition in his mind. He can't just stop once he starts. Or at least, he doesn't trust himself to.

Your cheeks heat and you bite your lip, "But-"

"No buts," he murmurs, "I told you I was gonna make it right, Y/N. I can't change what he did to you. Or how he treated you. But I can treat you better. I can keep you safe." He doesn't tell you that he loves you. That he wants you to put his name on the birth certificate. Or that he'd rather take you across the hall and put you in his bed. Or any of the other things he wants to say. He knows he's got to take this slow, but he can't just let you think you deserve what Rory did to you. 

"Let me make this right, doll," he pleads softly. 

"You've already done more than anyone expects you to," you tell him, looking away.

"But not as much as you deserve," he says softly. "I watched him take advantage of you for months," Bucky rumbled, "And I stayed out of it because of the way you smiled when you said his name. But darlin', when he put his hands on you that night, I should have broke him in half. You deserve to be pampered and spoiled within an inch of your life. Let me show you what that can be like, huh? At least... at least let me help you get ready for the baby. I know you can do this alone. I don't want you to."

"Is that all you want?" you ask slowly. 

"No," he said honestly, "But we don't have to do anything you don't want baby. This isn't about my dick. This is about making sure my girl gets what she needs."

"Your girl, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, tilting your chin up slowly with a smile, "You ruined me for anyone else, baby. Showed me what a good girl is supposed to look like... I can't deal with these other women. I tried. Made me wanna shoot myself in the head to make them stop talking."

You snort, and he takes your hands, "So, sorry, Sugar," he murmurs, "You're all mine now. I just gotta make you believe it. Let me try?"

"What if you don't think I look cute anymore once I start getting fat?" you tease. 

Bucky kisses you softly, just a whisper of a kiss that still makes you whimper, "Nice try, baby girl," he scolds softly, "Gettin' a little plump isn't gonna change your heart. And that's what I'm after." He doesn't want to get into details right now. But curves aren't a problem for him. He likes a little feminine softness after a long, stressful day.

"You say that now," you caution. 

But Bucky just laughs and kisses you again. He wants another taste of you. And to stop you trying to burst his bubble. Now that he has everything he ever wanted, no one is gonna talk him out of it. Not even you.


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky stopped outside his apartment door, key in his hand. The hallway was quiet but for the sound of someone singing in your apartment. At first, he thought you had your little stereo on.

But the longer he listened, the less sure he was about that. It was too bright, and there was no backing track. Just a voice. A really lovely voice.

He hesitated for a second before locking his own door and letting himself into your apartment. Ostensibly, he had a key for emergencies. But so far, those emergencies had been him bringing you dinner 3 or four nights a week instead of taking food back to his to eat alone.

And I’ll rise up  
I’ll rise like the day  
I’ll rise up  
I’ll rise unafraid  
I’ll rise up  
And I’ll do it a thousand times again  
And I’ll rise up  
High like the waves  
I’ll rise up  
In spite of the ache  
I’ll rise up  
And I’ll do it a thousand times again  
For you

Bucky paused in the doorway after quietly shutting the door and watched. You’re standing in the middle of the living room, still dressed in your work scrubs. And you’re putting books on a shelf. And singing. 

When you stop, Bucky clears his throat quietly, “Why didn’t you ever tell me you could sing, baby?” he said fondly, crossing the floor to kiss you hello.

“I- I mean-” your cheeks color, and you worry your lip between your teeth for a second.

“What?” he says, “No one ever tells you they like your voice.”

You shrug, “All the time, but- I guess I didn’t realize anyone was listening.”

Bucky smiled a little sheepishly and pulled you closer, “Sorry,” he said, “I was leaving to get a bite to eat and figured I heard an angel singing. So, I went to investigate. Turns out, I was right.”

“Bucky-” you murmur, leaning against him. It had been a long day. A really long day. Your mom had yelled at you for at least an hour. Furious about you being pregnant on top of your current… situation, with Bucky. She refused to believe you weren’t sleeping with him.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart, huh?” he murmurs, tilting your chin up gently. 

“I’m just tired,” you answer, but you lean into the touch anyway. You always get needy when you’re tired, or you don’t feel well. 

Bucky hums softly and kisses your nose, “You talked to your ma today, didn’t you.” It isn’t a question. He’s seen you get like this before.

You nod, “I knew it was coming. It doesn’t really make it easier.”

He tuts softly and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. You’d been dreading this little chat for two weeks. “What’d she say?”

“The standard stuff,” you sigh, “How could I do this to her, she knew I shouldn’t have moved to the city, Don’t expect me to help you, blah- blah- blah.”

He frowned and rubbed your back gently, “What the fuck?”

You roll your eyes, “Mama has some narcissistic tendencies… See. She’s okay with Rocky because well. That’s her firstborn. And it wasn’t till she had me that her body got “ruined.” So, yeah. It’s been this kind of thing as long as I can remember. And god help me if I point out she never married my dad.”

“That’s bullshit,” he said softly.

“Yeah, but, eventually, she’ll realize this is her first grandchild, and she’s missing out on all kinds of martyr points on Facebook.”

Bucky shakes his head, “Still gross. Let’s- let’s get you some dinner, huh?”

“Bucky,” you tell him, laughing softly, “Didn’t you have plans?”

“I’m the boss, baby. I can move stuff around. And I told you. You’re my girl. I gotta take care of you. And you need to eat. It’s past dinner time, and my guys told me you didn’t eat lunch.” He kisses your nose again and smiles. “Aside from that, I’d rather spend the evening with you. You’re a lot nicer to look at than Steve.”

You nod, too tired to argue with him. Not like you want to anyway. It’s nice having someone to talk to that doesn’t have a never-ending list of things for you to do.

“I’m gonna get a shower,” you tell him, pulling away, yawning.

“Good plan,” Bucky said. He didn’t like the tension in your shoulders, “You get a shower, and I’ll make a few phone calls and get us some dinner.”

He watches you go, smiling a little. He likes this. He loves having a girl that doesn’t ask him for endless stuff. Just his time and some attention. It feels better. It feels good. And he doesn’t even mind not having sex with you. Not really. You’d told him you wanted to take it slow. Give yourself some time to heal. Get used to a world without Rory in it. And Bucky had to admit, you had a point. Seven years was a long time. Still. He figured domestic life suited him. He slept better. Hell. He slept. And he was more aware of how risky stuff was. He couldn’t help you raise a baby in jail. Well. He could, but. He didn’t want to.

So as he made his phone calls and put in a supper order as he changed clothes. It felt right. Maybe not into his pajamas. Because he didn’t wear any. But some joggers and a t-shirt. Something you could snuggle closer in without worrying about mussing his clothes. That done, he slipped back across the hall and let himself in to wait on food. He helps himself to a drink out of your fridge, a little touched that you started keeping his preferred strawberry yogurt and his favorite brand of water. He made a mental note to thank you. And put a little extra money in the account where he put your rent. 

He didn’t need the money. Not really. Not like you did right now with a baby coming. But he knew you’d never agree to not paying him rent. You were already uncomfortable with paying him considerably less than his asking price. So he compromised. Kinda. He took your money but stuck it in an excellent bank account for you. He figured he’d set you up a little. Give you a safety net. That way, even if you decided this wasn’t right for you, you’d not be stuck again. 

When the food arrived, he tipped the kid and set it all out on the table with plates and silverware. You weren’t a fan of eating on the couch, and you hated plastic utensils. Which, as far as riders for meals went, Bucky didn’t mind. It was kinda cute. Your insistence that meals were for talking and not watching TV. That done, he padded quietly back to your bedroom to pop his head in and let you know the food was here.

It all smelled nice. Soft, flowery, sweet smells, and steam from the shower. He paused for a second, about to say something but stopped. Cheeks turning pink. You were panting. Really panting, making those soft little kitten noises that Bucky was intimately familiar with. 

“Oh,” he thought, swallowing hard. “Okay then,” he muttered, backing out slowly. Far be it from him to interrupt. Even if he’d really like to offer you a hand with that. He crept backward slowly, careful not to let on that he heard you. But in his creeping backward, he didn’t miss the soft moan of his name on your lips before you found some relief. He stopped dead in his tracks, and his prick throbbed. “Fuck me,” he whispered, forcing himself to shut the door. He had to remind himself several times that he was a gentleman. And also that he’d not been supposed to hear that. Still. It made him feel… warm. Knowing that you thought about him as you brought yourself off. 

He’d thought about you a lot. Dying to see you under him writhing in pleasure and so hot for him, you burned to the touch. 

He willed himself to take a deep breath and calm down before you came out. But it looked like loose pants were going to have to save the day. At least until he was safely back across the hall and could do something about it. But when you come out of the bedroom, dressed in pajama bottoms and a tank top. A bra underneath for modesty’s sake, he can’t breathe. You’re flushed from more than just the shower. And sweet. And when he looks down just a little, he softens. You’re getting a tummy. 

He smiles a little and stands up to pull out your chair, “I knew you’d be cute when you started getting a tummy,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss against your temple. 

You rub the swell gently and your cheeks heat, “Thankfully, my scrubs still fit because my jeans don’t. Not comfortably anyway.”

“When’s your next appointment, sweetheart?” he asked, taking his own seat. He wants to ask to touch your stomach, but he’s afraid his heart might burst. 

“Friday after work,” you answer, taking a sip of water.

He nods, “Do you want me to take you?” he asked gently. He wanted to take you. You were his girl, and this was his kid as far as he was concerned. 

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.

“That isn’t what I asked,” he said gently, “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to be there.”

“It’s nice to have someone to talk to,” you allow.

“Then I’ll take you,” he said, smiling. “Aside from that, I wanna ask some questions… make sure I’m taking care of you right.”

“Bucky,” you laugh, squeezing his hand, “Ribs aside because they’re still healing. I’m okay. I take my vitamins, and Sharon yells at me if I even so much as look at a box that needs to be moved at work.”

“Good,” he says around a bite of dinner, “But I still want to be sure. I want to make sure my girl is getting what she needs. Anything she needs.” He quirks an eyebrow and gestures towards your plate, but he knew. And you knew. That there were other implications. And he doesn’t miss your cheeks heating.

“You okay?” he asks, a little concerned.

“Yeah,” you murmur, taking a bite.

“You sure?” he presses.

“Yeah, just-” you pause, trying to gauge if you want to say something. “Yeah- I’m fine.”

Bucky chuckles. He hadn’t meant to press, but. Clearly, your time in the shower hadn’t done enough to relieve your feelings. “Sweetheart,” he rumbled, rubbing your thigh gently to gauge your reaction, “what do you need?”

When your breath hitches and you press your thighs together reflexively, he feels himself throb. That was- that was a response, and he’s willing to bet you’d be a blast in the sack. A real tiger when he got you going. 

“I need to be laid,” you say, exhaling slowly with a soft frustrated noise.

“Oh,” he chuckled, “Why didn’t you say so?” He chances moving his hand to your stomach, rubbing lightly, “Hormones?” he teased. 

“Yeah,” you say, biting your lip. You want to ask for more. You want him to tear your clothes off and fuck you on the tabletop. It’s been forever. Probably not since Rory managed to forget a condom and knock you up. And Bucky. Bucky is a beautiful man.

He tutted softly, “Y/N,” he murmured, “Let’s get you taken care of, huh? Get you calmed down, so you’re focused on food and not your clit.”

“But-” you start.

“But nothing, Doll,” he says, grinning, “What kind of guy would I be if I just left you frustrated?” He picks you up gently, “Besides, it’s good exercise,” he reminded, teasing you, “Good cardio since you can’t go running.”

“Bucky,” you whine, fingers tangling in his shirt as you bury your face in his neck. Too horny and needy to lodge any significant protest.

“At your service,” he rumbled, laying you gently on the bed before sliding off his t-shirt.


	7. Chapter 7

In the dark of your bedroom, Bucky pulls you closer and kisses your forehead. It had been beautiful being between your thighs, pinning you to the bed. Everything he’d hoped for as you came apart again and again. You make a soft sleepy sound, and he smiles, “Such a good girl for me,” he praises, “Lettin’ me, take care of you.”

“I didn’t wanna ask,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes slowly, “Didn’t want to take things awkward if you turned me down.”

He chuckles softly and pets your stomach, leaning down to kiss the swell softly. “Darlin’,” he scolds affectionately, “I wanted to get you in bed since the night I first saw you.”

Your cheeks heat, and you card your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles your stomach. It feels nice. You didn’t think he’d be this soft in the afterglow. Of course, you also didn’t know he’d spend this much time with you. Especially now that you’re getting more obviously pregnant with your ex’s baby. “Oh,” you murmur, arching into his light touches with a sigh.

“So touch starved,” he murmured, “That’s not good.”

“Or I’m just needy,” you answer, stretching.

Bucky grins, “I like that better,” he says, “I think I like you needy.” It’s true. He really does. Because of how you’re needy. You need him. Not his money or influence. You have an impact of your own, even if you don’t have money. You never ask him for anything. Not really even his time, granted. He volunteers it. But still. It’s a nice change. He’d like to buy you pretty things. New clothes and some jewelry, but he knows you’d probably be uncomfortable. Still. He had a little list of baby things he was going to start buying. 

“You say that until I start calling you, so you’ll come to cuddle,” you tease.

“Please do it,” he murmured, kissing your tummy again. Lots of soft, wet, hungry kisses that make you shiver. 

“Yeah?” you ask, feeling warmth spread through your chest.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “You’re my girl, remember?”

“You don’t let me forget it,” you answer.

“Damn right I don’t,” he grouses, sliding out of bed and pulling on his pants.

“Where are you going?” you ask, sitting up.

“To go heat up your dinner so you can eat it. Ya horn dog,” he says, smirking, leaning over to kiss your forehead.

“Thank you,” you tell him, smiling a little. Now that you can think about anything but Bucky in his grey sweat pants, you are getting hungry. 

_______

Friday at noon, when you walked out of the building, Nat was sitting in a black car at the curb, and she rolled the window down. “Everything okay?” you ask, leaning on the door.

“Bucky sent me. Told me to tell you he got hung up in meetings,” she answered.

“Is that what actually happened?” you counter, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. She liked you. You were smart. Smart enough to know when to ask direct questions and when to dance around. “I’m supposed to take you to your appointment, then take you home.”

“Okay,” you sigh, opening the door and sliding in. 

“Sorry,” she said, looking over her shoulder to back up, “Boss’ orders.”

“I know,” you snort, “He’s gonna be irritated at me, but I got an overnight to run tonight.”

“Overnight?”

You nod, yawning. You’re wrecked, and your day just barely started. “Audits are coming up. So I gotta get charts done right and make sure everything is all pretty and up to snuff for State, so we keep our accreditations.”

“Why you gotta do it at night, though?” she asked. 

You shrug, “I get more done on overnights. There are fewer interruptions and people needing stuff because aside from a handful of people that work nights, all my clients are in bed. And 3rd shift is basically just there to watch the desk and clean.”

Natasha nodded, smirking, “So much for a sleep schedule.”

“I mean, when the baby gets here, I’ll be sleep deprived anyway,” you point out.

She nodded, “That’s true,” she allowed, “But yeah, Bucky’s gonna be irritated.”

“Can’t be helped,” you tell her. “I still gotta look after my clients.”

Natasha grinned at you. You were definitely good for Bucky. It was good for him to have someone he couldn’t boss around, not that he wanted to do it anyway. He’d probably just fuss and be irritable. 

____________

A clean bill of health given and everything with the baby doing fine, Natasha drove you home and let you out in front of the building, trusting Bucky’s guys on the inside and his security to take care of you the rest of the way up to the apartment. 

You let yourself in and drop your bag by the door and kick your trainers into the closet. You had one thought. Bed. You just wanted to go back to bed and try and get some rest so you could get your work finished tonight. It was bad enough you weren’t getting overtime for it. 

So by the time you stripped out of your scrubs and dived naked under the covers, snuggling into your small mountain of pillows and blankets, you’re in heaven. 

At least until your alarm goes off to wake you back up to get ready. 

The one saving grace is that you can wear whatever you want. So as you pull on leggings and a thick hoodie to keep you comfortable while you’re up and down all night. Shoes on, hair up, you bend to pick up your bag and have to struggle for just a second to pick it up and sigh. Pack on the table, you remind yourself. But still, as you walk to your car, you feel okay. Just the grogginess that comes with waking up after a nap in the middle of the day. 

When you walked into the building, it was quiet. The retired hotel had been converted into efficiency apartments and offices. Horizons offered treatment, medication management, Therapy, and 24-hour staff supervision, and you managed all of it. Coordinated staff, services for clients, and events. It was all your purview. And you loved it as much as you hated all the mundane red tape. Still, as you settled in behind the desk with some tea and a stack of paperwork to do. It was gonna be a long night. But, it was going to be a good chance to get it all done.

_______

Bucky glared at Nat across the desk, “What do you mean she’s at work?”

“She’s at work,” Nat said, shrugging, “She pulled in as scheduled at 11:30.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, “How was her appointment?” he asked, taking a deep breath.

“Well. Going in was going to be awkward for both of us but a clean bill of health. No orders or prescriptions,” she answered, inspecting her nails.

He nodded slowly and exhaled, “Well, it looks like I’m headed across town.”

“She’s busy,” Nat said, rolling her eyes.

“I know,” he said, putting his jacket on, “But I’m still gonna get me a good night kiss.”

__________

When the side door opened, the metal locking mechanism echoing through the back hallway made you jerk upright. You half-turned to look at the security monitor and smiled a little. 

Bucky. 

You knew how he always knew where to find you. And why. What you didn’t know was how he always knew when you needed a pick me up. He either had a weirdly specific mutant power, or your security detail was more observant than you thought.

He walked around and leaned on the desk with a frown, “You’re supposed to be home in bed.”

“I already told her that,” Sharon yelled from the med room where she was putting away back stock. 

“And I told you I’ll sleep tomorrow,” you sigh, fighting a yawn.

“And I told you that if you don’t start taking care of yourself, I’m gonna knock your scrawny ass into next week,” she threatened cheerfully.

“Then I’ll kick your ass on Thursday... Now get your goddamn meds done and go home,” you say, taking a sip of tea.

Bucky liked visiting you at work, he decided, chuckling. Your people adored you. And you loved them right back. “Here,” you say, pulling out a desk chair for Bucky, “Sit. Collate. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can get home.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky said, taking the seat and the stack of papers you slid over to him. 

“How were your meetings,” you ask idly.

“Meetings,” he sighed, “So fucking long.”

You shake your head, “Can’t you just tell people to fuck off and do what you say?”

“Darlin’,” he says, laughing, “I been trying to do that with you for months. I’m the boss. Not a miracle worker.”

“I’m different,” you remind him.

“Oh?” he hums, kissing your cheek.

“I’m cute,” you say, tossing your hair.

Bucky shook his head but didn’t get a chance to respond. A client, a huge Hispanic man with his hair in a braid down his back, had loped into the commons with headphones on. Singing loudly. 

You stand you and give him a sort of helpless, confused “The fuck?” gesture, and he stops and looks around, snatching his headphones off.

“Oh shit,” he groaned, “Is it quiet hours?”

“Yeah, for like an hour now.”

Shit. Sorry.” he said, turning back towards the elevator. “Oh wait!” he says, switching back and hurrying to the desk, “Hey, Sparky?”

“ ‘Sup Chava?” you ask, settling back in your chair with a groan.

“Can you look at my HUD shit? Irina told me she ain’t know how to do it.”

“Yeah,” you tell him yawning, “You can bring it down here real quick or shove it under my office door for Monday.”

“Monday?”

“There’s no one in the office for HUD after five on Friday,” you remind, “But I’ll be here at 7am. We can get it in before State comes in if I hustle.”

“Sparky, all you do is hustle,” he snorted.

“Somebody gotta,” you shrug.

Bucky sat back and watched the exchange. He didn’t understand your job. Not really. There were a lot of moving pieces and parts. What the fuck is HUD? What the blistered, bleeding fuck was he putting staples in and why did it matter if you were accredited. 

It seemed to him like playing by the rules was more trouble than it was worth.


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky watched you work for a second, wading efficiently into the mess of endless receipts and papers, setting it all to rights.

“Sparky?” he asked, amused. He hadn’t known you had a nickname of any description. He had pet names for you, but he hadn’t known anyone else did. 

You smile a little, “I started working Res Care while I was still in college. I used to work with kids. So, I also had some really nifty rainbow glitter-covered Converse… So all my kids tended to call me Sparkles. When I got my bachelor’s degree, I started here at Horizons. Hourly, running medical appointments for Clients. I still had those same shoes… and some other sparkly ones people got for me. So the nickname stuck. It’s just since been shortened to Sparky.”

Bucky snorted, “And here I thought you electrocuted yourself or something.”

“No, not since high school.” You say this blandly, without looking up from your paper and Bucky waits for you to elaborate. But you don’t, and he leans back and regards you for a second. He wants to know. He desperately wants to know. Mostly because he loves it when you tell stories. But with no explanation forthcoming, his mind runs rampant. Everything from fucking around with a light socket or a freak vibrator accident. He just. He really wants to know. 

You lean back in your chair and sigh, rubbing the back of your neck, looking over your work. You don’t immediately notice the girl bounding over to the counter. You stop and look up at her, raising an eyebrow, “Boss,” she said, “Tatum broke the dishwasher.”

You sigh, “How?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose for a second.

“I dunno, it just won’t start,” she answered.

“And what makes you think I can fix it?”

She shrugs, “You can fix anything.”

You haul yourself to your feet slowly and pad around the desk, stocking feet silent on the tile. “Some people’s Children,” you grouse, walking into the kitchen.

Bucky half turns to look through the lifted kitchen grate and watches you inspect the dishwasher for a second and roll your eyes before putting the door up and pushing against it firmly with your hip and pressing start.

“Hooray!” the little blonde in the kitchen yells.

“Shhh,” you prompt, “Ya doofus.”

“Thanks, boss,” Both girls chorus, going back to cleaning the kitchen.

“Yeah yeah,” you say yawning. You feel a little laggy and slow still. Like you’re running through syrup.

Sharon stuck her head out of the med room and chuckled, “Y/N, go home, mama. You need to sleep.”

“No, I need to get this done so I can sleep tomorrow,” you tell her as you drop back into your chair and tuck your feet underneath you, tucking your hands into your hoodie pocket as you look over your stacks of papers.

Bucky pulls your chair closer to his and cupped your cheek in his hand, “What do you need, baby?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” you tell him, kissing his palm, “I’m just tired.”

“You hungry? Need something to drink?” he pressed, rubbing his thumb against your cheekbone with a soft smile.

“No,” you answer with a sigh, “I just really really need to finish this. The longer I sit here, the more tired I get.”

Bucky kisses your nose and smiles, “No wonder,” he says gently, “Getting up early in the morning and going to work then coming back. What can I do?”

“I dunno,” you say, tilting your head gently to coax your neck into popping. 

“Well,” he said, “How about I get out of your hair so you can work, and then I come back to pick you up when you get done.”

“Okay,” you say, nodding, looking back towards the desk with a sigh.

“Besides,” he rumbled, petting your stomach, “After working all night, the little one will probably really like some breakfast.”

“Probably,” you snort fondly.

Bucky smiled and stole his goodnight kiss before standing up and putting on his jacket, “Text me when you’re finishing up, sweetheart, and I’ll come to get you. I don’t want you taking the train that tired.”

“I’d be okay.”

“I know you would. I’m worried about anyone stupid enough to fuck with you,” he teased.

You snort and stifle a yawn with effort as he lopes out the door. 

____________

By morning when you texted Bucky, and you were waiting outside watching the sunrise spill over the horizon, you felt okay. Tired but less laggy. Alert- ish. 

But still, when you felt someone walk up behind you, you didn’t have time to react before someone had jabbed a needle into your neck. And after that, you didn’t know anything else. 

At least not until you wake up zip-tied to a chair with a pounding headache. For a moment, it’s hard to get your eyes to focus, and all you can see is gilded paintings and garish carpet. 

“What-” you groan unable to get the rest of that sentence out.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice said, sounding frankly relieved. It’s enough to make you try and pull your head upright again and turn towards the sound, “Easy, Sweetheart, I know.” It’s not a voice you recognize, but it’s nice. Motherly. “Take your time,” it said gently, “We’ve got a little time. I doubt they want us dead. If they did, they’d not have put us in a room with so much carpet.”

You snort, “That’s a comfort,” you answer, stretching your neck.

“Oh good,” she sighed, “you have a sense of humor.”

“I’m sorry, but- what the fuck?”

She chuckled; ordinarily, she didn’t approve of swearing. But under the circumstances, she could understand.

“Deep breath,” she said, “It’s just some turf war nonsense. Probably Rumlow and his guys.”

“Okay, but Rumlow runs drugs. Why does he care if Bucky’s trafficking guns and cars?”

“Because where Bucky is, Rumlow can’t be. Bucky minds his turf too well,” she answers.

“Follow up question,” you say, stretching your neck.

Shoot,” she says, watching you. Amused and thankful that you aren’t in hysterics. And that you were wearing something that hid your stomach. It was likely that Rumlow’s guys hadn’t realized you were knocked up.

“Who are you?”

And practical. She was thankful you were practical.

“I’m Winnifred, dear,” she said kindly. 

“Pleased to meet you,” you say, trying to smile around the headache. 

“Likewise,” she said, smiling a little. “Do you know how to get out of zip ties?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “my brother made sure I knew how.”

She nods, “Start working on that and keep your arms behind your back,” she instructs gently, “We probably won’t be here long once Bucky figures out we’re missing. Where’d they grab you from anyway?”

“Outside work,” you say yawning so hard your jaw cracks, “I was running an overnight getting stuff squared away for State.”

She smiles a little, “You just don’t have any luck with the backside of that building.”

“Right?”

She snorted, “You okay? They didn’t hit you?”

“I mean they didn’t have to. They knocked me out, and I went down before I knew what was happening.”

She nods, less worried. She didn’t want to see what was going to happen if Rumlow’s guys, and she was sure it wasn’t Rumlow. Just a couple of his younger, more hot-headed goons, had actually done anything to hurt you. Or your baby. She might not necessarily agree with Bucky deciding to raise this kid with you but, she could see your appeal. A pretty face and a good mind. Good qualities in a mob wife, if she said so herself.

Your zip tie around your wrists hits the floor and you pick it up, slipping it into the pocket of your hoodie easily.

“I’m surprised you can still bend down that fast,” she said a little impressed.

“Only if I don’t think about it,” you tell her.

“Do you know what you’re having yet?” she asked, also dimly aware that she was impressed with how subtle you were getting your hands free. 

“A baby,” you answer smiling, “Which is a shame I was hoping for a velociraptor.”

She rolls her eyes, “Smart ass,” she said without any heat. She could definitely see your appeal to her son.


	9. Chapter 9

Winnifred Barnes watched her son pace like a caged tiger. He was seething. He was furious. Rumlow’s gang had tickled a hair-trigger, and they had no idea he was about to go off. 

She played events back in her head, again and again. If it hadn’t been for her big mouth. If she’d just followed your lead and stayed quiet. This wouldn’t all be happening. Bucky wouldn’t be planning to burn the city to the ground. 

“Bucky,” she said softly, hoping that he’d turn. But when he didn’t, she put a hand on his arm, “James,” she repeated sternly.

He did turn then. His eyes were getting red with tears that were about to fall. His mind was racing, and no matter how hard he tried, there was no way this ended without breaking your heart. There wasn’t a way to save you from the pain. And he dreaded the moment you opened your eyes. He registered a hand on his arm. He registered his mother’s voice.

“Slow down,” she said softly, reaching up to touch his face. 

“Ma,” he said through his teeth, “After-” he couldn’t bring himself to say it. But Winnifred had been there. She’d seen it. Hell, she caused it. And Bucky knew it. He’d burst into the room, guns blazing to find Rumlow’s son in law dead and you bleeding on the floor. Blood running over his Mother’s fingers as she frantically tried to staunch the bleeding and work a smartphone to get some help. You had been too still. And too pale. Eyes glassy and unseeing as you stared at the ceiling as shock set in. “After what they did,” he finishes, “I should tear their lungs out.”

“And it can still be done. Tomorrow,” she said. “Let Steve take care of your guys. You take care of your girl. Don’t leave her here to go out and raise hell.”

Bucky took a deep breath and looked back towards the hallway they’d wheeled you down. He wanted you to be okay. He wanted to take you home and tuck you into bed. That had been all he wanted as he raced towards the gaudy mess of a mansion he’d found you in. The 80′s had thrown up all over it. Someone with no money’s idea of what money looked like. He remembered being vaguely aware that he wondered where you’d gotten your good taste from. And he’d made a mental note to ask you. Preferably in between making you come and exploiting your hormones to keep you from being scared to sleep. Or crying. He hated it when you cried. It usually meant you were at the end of your rope for the day. That it had all been just a little too much. Sometimes, it was a sad animal commercial. Or frustration. That wasn’t so bad. He’d dry your tears and kiss your cheeks until you giggled. But the end of your rope crying broke his heart. You always tried not to let him see you do it. Crying in private while you stood in the shower and let the water run. He hated it. 

“How do I do this, ma?” he asked softly. 

“The same way your father did,” she said gently, “Be patient. Be soft for her. And remember. She might not ever be quite the same, but you won’t be either.”

Bucky exhaled slowly. He knew how his father had built his empire. It had been bloody and brutal. Sacrifices had had to be made. He knew that. And he knew his was coming. But he’d not planned on you being the price he paid. He’d been a little relieved when you’d wanted to try and take things slow. No big fancy dates. No fancy gifts. As little public attention as possible while the two of you found your feet and built a comfortable relationship. It made you easy to overlook. Harder for business rivals to target. 

“She’s a good girl, James,” she said slowly, “A real good girl. And I’m sorry.”

“For what, Ma?” he asked quietly.

“If I woulda kept my goddamn mouth shut, we woulda walked out of there without a scratch... I thought I could talk us out of it. And I thought Y/N’s silence when he popped her in the mouth was her rolling over. I didn’t realize she was buying time. Getting him close enough, she could get her hands on his knife to get us out herself.” She looked up at the ceiling, unable to look at her son. 

“But. I couldn’t do that. I had to run off at the mouth. And the next thing I know... She’s on the floor. Bleeding and trying not to make a sound.”

“Ma,” Bucky said quietly, “You couldn’t have known what that stupid fuck was going to do.”

“But I knew there was a risk.”

“It isn’t your fault,” he said, kissing her forehead, “You made a mistake. You didn’t set out to hurt her.”

She smiles a little, “It doesn’t change the fact that when the shooting started, it should have been me.”

“That doesn’t work either, Ma,” he said gently, “How could I do without either one of my girls. You know Y/N would stand here and tell me the same thing.”

“If I woulda gave her a second, we would have walked out the front door,” she snorted. “That girls got some hard edges. Even if she does dress like she’s wearing a nun’s hand me downs.”

Bucky rolled his eyes fondly. His ma would never dream of leaving the house with no makeup and her hair a mess. It didn’t surprise him; she picked up on the lack of color in your wardrobe. But he doesn’t get a chance to answer her. A Nurse approached them and cleared her throat. “Mr. Barnes?” she said tentatively. 

He turned, “Any news?” he’s trying to stay calm, but his nerves are jangling like he’s touched a live wire, and he shoves his hands in his pocket to try and hide the trembling. 

He can barely sit still as the woman talks to him. He understands two things. You’re alive. And the baby didn’t make it. She tells him the details as his mother asks the critical questions, but in his chest, it feels like his heart is tearing its self to pieces. He knew it was a possibility that this was just one miracle too many to ask for, to walk out of this with everything. But how can he face you knowing that his interference in your life had caused all of this? All of the upset and pain. Your present alienation from your family. You had nowhere to turn that wasn’t him. Or someone he knew. And he hated that. He hated that you might not want to be with him anymore after this, even if he understood. 

All of that hits him like a train. Before he can really even realize he knew those things and he feels like he’s drowning. It isn’t even until his mother pulls him against her gently and hands him a handkerchief that he even realizes the crying he’s hearing is his.


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky pulled you closer in the dark and buried his face in your hair. You’d been asleep again when he got home. Dead asleep. The kind of sleep that told him you’d probably taken enough Benadryl to put a horse down. 

Not enough to kill you. But enough to keep you asleep for at least 12 hours. Trying to sleep through the pain. And Bucky figures it’s got a lot to do the depression. And the pain from healing. To be honest, he wouldn’t want to be awake either. He doesn’t want to be awake, he wants to stay home with you. He wants to go to sleep. But he can’t.

All he can hear is the sound you made when they told you. The way you folded over onto yourself, knees to chest and sobbing. Inconsolable. Nothing Bucky could say was going to soothe you. And he knew it. So he didn’t say anything. All he could do was hold you. 

Like he did every night. He hardly ever saw you with your eyes open right now. If you were awake, it was only briefly. Especially now that there was no job to go back to. Someone had alerted people over your head that you were tangled up in a mob war. It had been politely suggested that you resign. And in your grief, you’d not fought it. Or let Bucky fight it. 

When you make a soft uncomfortable noise, he kisses your hair, “Shhh,” he soothed, “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”

“Bucky?” you murmur, turning to nuzzle into his chest.

“The one and only,” he said, smiling a little as he tightened his arms around you.

“How was work?” your voice is muffled against his chest, but it’s the best thing he’s heard all day. 

“It was fine… Ma dropped by. Told me to tell you she wants to take you shopping,” he says softly. 

“I hate shopping,” you murmur. Not petulant, just stating a fact. 

“I know,” he said, kissing your temple. Going shopping with you for baby things had been a nightmare. You were obsessive and indecisive. And you shopped like you didn’t have money, adhering strictly to a budget. It had driven him up the wall, and he made a mental note of things you dismissed as being too expensive. Because he was gonna, make sure you got them. Thinking about that made his eyes water, and he blinked back tears quickly. He’d hated having to call and cancel that order, frantic to keep you from having to open box after box of baby things for the nursery.

“I missed you,” You tell him, smudging a sleepy kiss against his shoulder. 

“I missed you too,” he rumbled quietly. His chest felt warmer than it had for days. He assumed you didn’t care where he was. Or didn’t know because you were asleep. “You feel okay?” he asked, “Did you eat today?”

“I’m okay. I’m just… tired,” you whisper. 

“Baby,” Bucky sighed, “We’ve got- I mean. Have you thought about talking to anyone?”

“I’m fine,” you repeat.

Bucky doesn’t want to press. This is the most words he’s heard out of you in ages. The longest you’ve talked in a couple weeks. “Then come get dinner with me tomorrow?” he asks.

When you tense up, he kisses your head, “At least stay awake for me tomorrow? Eat some sweet and sour with me. Help me drink a bottle of wine? I missed eating dinner with you.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. 

“Yeah?” he says, smiling a little, “You promise?” He didn’t like you sleeping so much. He knew it hurt, but. He needed you. He missed his girl. He missed you sitting in his lap and rubbing his neck while he rested his head on your shoulder. He missed the big eyes looking up at him. He missed the quick wits and sneaky smiles. 

“I’ll try,” you answer, hesitating to make a promise you don’t know you can keep.

“That’s all I need, babygirl,” he said softly. “How are you healing?”

“It still hurts, but. I think the stitches are okay… Nothing’s seeping anymore.”

“Can I-” he started, reaching for the hem of your shirt. 

You stop his hand and try to wiggle away, wincing. “I just wanna make sure it’s not getting infected again,” he said sternly. With you sleeping so much, bandages don’t get changed like they should. And Bucky is sad that it’s going to scar. He hadn’t wanted that. Not because he thought scars were unattractive but because he hadn’t wanted you to wear a physical reminder of your pain. “Hold still,” he said. His tone firm but gentle and brokering no argument. He pushes your shirt up gently, keeping his touch light as he inspects your wounds. Wounds. Plural. In the shuffle, you’d been hit by a ricochet. But. They looked good. Healing right finally. But, they needed some cleaning. 

“Stay here,” he said, kissing your jaw, “I’m gonna dab at everything a little. Clean it up some.”

He padded to the bathroom to give himself a second. He didn’t want you to see him upset. It still caught him by surprise sometimes, how attached he’d been to a baby that wasn’t even here yet. How attached he’d been to the idea of being a dad. A good dad. Like his had been. It was all he wanted. 

By the time he’s pulled himself back together, you’re half asleep again. Struggling to stay awake, and he smiles a little. “Just a minute, sweetheart,” he said, “Let me do this, and we’ll go to bed, huh?”

You nod and exhale slowly, trying not to whimper at the cold of the ointment or the discomfort. 

“Oh come on, tough guy,” he teased, pinching your hip gently, “This ain’t so bad.”

“It’s cold,” you pout, uncomfortable and grumpy about it.

“My apologies, Princess,” he says, wrapping the wound back up carefully and kissing the gauze gently. “Let me put this away, baby,” he says gently, “Then we’ll have a cuddle. I’ll put in a movie for you.”

“What movie,” you ask, snuggling back under the covers and pulling the stuffed dog he bought you to your chest. 

Bucky stops in the doorway, thinking. You’re a good girl. A real good girl. but everyone needed a hand sometimes. And maybe. Just maybe your “hand” should be a paw. Or four. Maybe you needed a new friend. 

“How about a musical, huh?”

“You hate musicals,” you tell him yawning. 

“But I love you, baby,” he says crossing the floor and pulling you close. 

“I love you too, Bucky,” you tell him, kissing the hollow of his throat as he pulls up Singin’ in the Rain for you. Even if he knows you’ll be asleep in half a second and he’ll be stuck watching a movie he hates.


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky held the large box carefully. It was pretty. Old fashioned. A hatbox, Nat had called it as she handed him ribbon to help keep it closed. He was careful not to jostle it too much as he walked to your door. And oddly, he was nervous. 

What if you didn’t like it?

What if you cried?

He hated it when you cried. 

He let himself in quietly and smiled a little. You were trying. Trying so hard to pull yourself back together. The apartment had been cleaned today, and on the stove, something was cooking in a pot. Probably something you could start and just let simmer for a while, but still. You were doing things. His guys had told him you’d gone on a ramble today. No discernable destination and you weren’t out long, but it was something. 

“Y/N?” he called, toeing off his shoes.

When you walk out of the bedroom in clean pajamas, toweling your hair, he smiles. “Hey, Princess,” he says. It had been a few weeks since he got his idea, and slowly you’d been awake when he came home more often. It made him feel better. 

“I’m not royalty,” you snort. 

“Who told my Princess that, huh?” he said, scowling playfully, leaning into the touch when you stand on your toes and kiss his cheek. 

“Bucky,” you sigh, shaking your head and carding your fingers through his hair. Usually, he hated it when a girl just started touching his hair, but when you did it, it just made his heart skip a beat. 

“What?” he asked, kissing your nose, “You’re a Princess. My Princess. And I brought you a present.”

“It’s not my birthday,” you tell him, smiling a little.

“Nope,” he said, walking you to the sofa gently, “But I saw it, and you just had to have it, Sweetheart.”

He puts the box very carefully into your lap and sits next to you, watching you pull the ribbon off the box, head tilted curiously. “What is it?” you ask, lifting the lid.

“A friend,” he said, smiling a little when you gasp softly. 

At the bottom of the box, curled up fast asleep, is a puppy. A back German Shepherd puppy. She’d been expensive, but she had a good pedigree, and she was gonna grow into a beautiful dog. One that could be trained to protect you and be your companion. And maybe, just maybe, chafe a little more life back into you. His Princess deserved a dog like this, he’d decided, as soon as he met her.

“Bucky!” you gasp, scooping her up gently. The puppy makes a soft sleepy sound and yawns as she wakes up, realizing that a new person is holding her; she starts wiggling and licking the tears off your cheeks, making you giggle. 

Something unclenches in his chest then, and he takes the box out of your lap and puts his arm around you. “You like her?” he asked, kissing your head. 

“She’s perfect,” you say, stroking her ears lovingly, “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” you ask. It’s not baby talk, but it’s a tone Bucky’s never heard you use, and he smiles. 

“What are you gonna name her?” he asks, kissing your head again. 

“Nova,” you answer after a long moment. 

“Nova,” he repeated, “That’s a good name.” He watches you cuddle her for a while as he holds you and sighs. This feels good. And he’s happy that you’re happy. The few happy tears you’d cried hadn’t felt like it was killing him.

“Thank you,” you murmur, looking up at him. 

“You’re welcome, Sweetheart,” he answers, blinking for just a second. He’d brought you little gifts before. Nothing this extravagant, mostly because you wouldn’t allow it. But, every time you thank him, it takes him by surprise. It isn’t effusive. You don’t promise to love him forever. Nothing that dramatic. Not by a long shot. But it feels a thousand times more genuine than anything Rena would have ever said. 

“Bucky?” you ask, looking from the puppy in your lap back up to him.

“Yeah?” he answers, kissing your nose.

“I don’t have puppy supplies,” you tell him. 

“I know,” he says, “We’ll go get them after dinner.”

“Don’t you have work?” you ask tentatively. 

“Nope,” he says, kissing your nose again. He’d been trying not to be out all night as often. Trying a little harder to keep to the straight and narrow. Mostly because it had torn him apart, knowing that you were hurt because of him. “I like being home with my girl at night,” he says, “I get in less trouble that way.”

You smile a little and shake your head, “Coulda fooled me,” you tell him. 

“Hey,” he protests chuckling, cuddling you and tickling your side

“Hold her for me?” you ask, still giggling, handing him the puppy and going to the kitchen to check on dinner. 

He nods and watches you go. Basking in the contentment that flowed through his chest as he patted the little dog in his lap. “You take care of your new ma, huh?” he ordered, stroking her. She nibbled at his fingers, and Bucky smiled, shaking his head, “A real killer, huh?” he said, grinning, “You gonna be a big bad guard dog, huh? Tough girl.”

The clatter of plates and silverware being set out makes him look back towards the kitchen, and Bucky smiles, “Your ma’s a first-rate cook,” he explains, stroking her ears when her head turns towards the sound, “Something tells me that if you look unfortunate a lot, she’ll feed lots of treats,” he stage whispers, making sure you hear him. 

“Shh,” you tell him, “Don’t tell her that!”

“Hey,” Bucky said, grinning, “she’s gotta know who I’m handing her to. We have an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he said, “She takes good care of her ma for me, and I make sure she gets a steak on Saturdays.”

“Bucky!” you tell him, dishing up a plate and putting it on the table for him.

“What?” he said, unrepentant, “She’s gotta earn her keep.”

“Why?” you ask, “I don’t right now.” He doesn’t miss the frustration in your voice. It’s not a big change, but it is a definite change. A different timbre, even if the expression on your face doesn’t change. 

“Sweetheart,” he said, putting Nova on the Fleece blanket on the couch so she could nap as he got to his feet. “We talked about this,” he soothed.

“I know that but that doesn’t mean I’m not shitty about it,” you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. 

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you’re still the least expensive girl I ever had,” he teased, kissing your cheek as he pulled out your chair. He respected your independent spirit. The need to do stuff. The need to do more than look pretty and spend money. You measured you life in things done, not stuff owned. And without realizing it, you’d changed him too. For the first time in his life, he felt shallow when he thought about the girls he used to date. He’d thought he was better because he knew he just wanted them for their looks but. As he watched you struggle to be taken care of and coddled, he realized grown women. The caliber of woman he needed in his life, was going to be bothered by that. Because they were going to want to give to him too. 

You sigh, “At least I can be a cheap date, I guess.”

Bucky winced, “Sweetheart,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I can afford it. You aren’t putting me out. I want you to be safe. And happy. That makes me happy, knowing that you’re taken care of. You make me happy. And that’s all I need you to do right now.”

“And what happens when I don’t make you happy anymore?” you ask quietly, looking away and picking up your fork. 

And Bucky doesn’t answer. There is no answer, he realizes that’s a going to allay that anxiety. Because you’ve seen it happen. Your dad had left your mom. Hell, your high school sweetheart had put you in the hospital. All he knows is that he has to show you that he’s going to keep choosing you. Because he can’t be the reason you cry anymore. Not unless you’re crying tears of joy when he hands you a whole herd of puppies.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky looked up from his books and looked towards the door. Beyond the office, he can hear you talking to Nova as the pup follows you from room to room. You’re cleaning and tidying and making sure that everything is set to rights.

It would sound like home, even if it had only been two days since he moved you across the hall to his apartment. It was bigger. It had a better view. And honestly, he wanted you in his bed at night when he came home. And you agreed that you’d probably do better spending less time by yourself. And that it would make it easier to coordinate security for you.

It takes Bucky a moment to realize it when it happened. It’s been what feels like ages, but when you start singing to yourself, or to Nova, he isn’t sure which, he feels his heart skip a beat. You sang when you were happy, content. When you felt safe. And it had been months since he’d heard your voice. 

It wasn’t loud. It was even a little absent-minded. But it sounded like heaven. It had been so long since he’d heard you he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to listen to your voice like that. He stopped, staying completely still and sighed. He wanted to go out there and watch, but he didn’t want to startle you into stopping.

“Baby steps,” he murmured. But even with that in mind, it was satisfying to know that you were healing. And that Nova had done what he needed her to do. The little dog was steadily chafing the life back into you. Giving you someone to cuddle and fuss over. It wasn’t the same as the baby would have been, he knew. But it helped. It gave you a way to get going and get traction in the morning. And Bucky worried a lot less about coming home to find you dead of an accidental overdose.

Slowly, careful not to make too much noise, he stood and loped towards the door, leaning on the door frame and watching Nova sit at your feet, listening in rapt attention, lit head tilted sideways as she listened to you explaining how you were making dinner.

“Smells good, Princess,” he drawled, crossing the floor to kiss your cheek.

“Hopefully, Steve and Nat like it,” you murmur.

“They ain’t picky, baby,” he said, “They’ll just be thrilled to eat something that ain’t take out.” 

“That’s good,” you tell him, tucking yourself against his side. 

“I promise,” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “They ain’t had a home-cooked meal since ma stopped letting us meet in her Kitchen, I’m pretty sure.”

You snort, and he presses a little, “Speaking of Ma,” he said gently, “She misses you.”

“Why didn’t she just call me?” you ask patiently. You don’t have much patience for people, not just being direct about what they want.

Bucky stops and blinks at you for just a second. “I’ll tell her-” he started.

“No,” you say, waving your hand, dismissively, “I’ll call her tomorrow, and we’ll chat.”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your head again, “She’d like that,” he murmurs. 

“I meant to call her today, actually and got sidetracked when Mama called,” you tell him.

“What’d she want?” Bucky asked, frowning.

“Now that I’m not knocked up anymore, I’m allowed to come home,” you sigh.

“That-” Bucky growled, cutting himself off roughly, “Baby, that’s- why would she say that?”

“Probably because Rocky took over the bar and they’re running short,” you tell him practically.

“Are you gonna go back?” he asked. 

“Probably not to stay,” you tell him, “But I might pick up a weekend shift. I still have my license. And my savings are running low.”

Bucky frowned, “You mean to tell me I gave you a credit card, and you’ve been living off your savings anyway?”

“Yup,” you tell him, stirring a pot. 

“You little shit,” he said disbelievingly. 

You half shrug, “I’m not kept,” you tell him gently. “I’ll find a job soon. But I’m not gonna live off of you. That’s just... that’s gross. I appreciate your generosity, but you’re not my ATM.”

“Y/N,” he sighed, both touched and thoroughly exasperated. “You’re my girl. It’s my job to take care of you.”

“No,” you correct gently, “It is your job to love me. It’s not your job to buy things for me and let me lay around all day.”

“No,” he admitted, “Perhaps not. But I enjoy doing it. You’re a good girl. The best girl I ever had. And if you’re not ready to go back to work, you don’t have to. And you definitely don’t have to go home. Not if you don’t want to.”

“But I do,” you sigh, “The longer I sit at home, the more time I have to think.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, exhaling slowly. He didn’t want you working. He wanted you in a comfortable home filling your days with whatever activities a pretty girl did through the day when she was perfectly spoiled. But then, he had to admit. You weren’t that kind of girl. The kind that could lay around and eat brunch then tan and work out. And that wasn’t enough for you. You’d be unhappy lying around like that. “But I don’t want you going home to work for that woman,” he said sternly.

“But-” you start.

“I gave you a credit card, baby,” he reminded, “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want you using it. Take yourself out tomorrow. Get your nails done, buy some new books... whatever you want, baby. You deserve it. Go do some pretty girl things.”

“New books would be nice,” you sigh. 

“There you go,” he said smiling softly, “Maybe take Nova to get some ice cream. She’d like that.”

“Would you like that?” you ask the dog, “Huh?” She barks and wags her tail. She has no idea what you’re saying, but she does know that you’re talking to her and she likes that. 

“I think that’s a yes,” Bucky hummed, stroking her ears until a knock on the door sends her running to bark at the door. 

Bucky pecks your cheek and goes to let Steve and Natasha in. 

“Something smells amazing,” Steve said, “And I’m starving.”

“Dinner’ll be ready soon,” you tell him, kissing his cheek and then Natasha’s as she takes a stack of plates from your hands.

“Ugh,” she groaned, “Finally there’s a girl with class around here. Can’t tell you how tired I am of plastic forks.”

“Dinner belongs on the table,” you say shrugging. 

“Exactly,” she agreed, slipping Nova a bite of cheese.

“Don’t feed her off the table, please. Treats are fine, just put them in her bowl... She’s gonna be a big girl. I’d prefer she not starts table surfing.”

Nat’s cheeks colored a little and she nodded. It wasn’t like you’d shouted. You hadn’t even been stern. But it was something about the way you hadn’t even looked up. It made her feel like a kid with her hand in a cookie jar. And damned if that wasn’t her least favorite mob wife trick. And she wondered where you’d learned it.


	13. Chapter 13

You’re sure about this, Y/N?” Bucky asked, watching you put your hair up in a bun.

“It’s a job,” You tell him, shrugging, “And I cut my teeth on worse conditions.”

Bucky frowned and watched you in the mirror. He knew this hadn’t been a job you really wanted. But your entanglement in the current turf war that was going on had had a significant stain on your reputation. It was the only place in the City that would hire you. And it was a hospital. A damn State Hospital. “Baby girl,” he protested.

“Bucky, I can’t lay around anymore. I’ve gotta have something to do,” you tell him, picking up your sneakers.

He runs his fingers through his hair, “Baby,” he protests, “I get it. I do. But… do you have to work there?”

“It’s just a foot in the door Bucky,” you sigh, feeling frustrated. “The sad truth is, everything that happened with Rory, and with you trashed my reputation… and people talk. People talk a lot. My success rate? My talent? None of that matters if I’m a drama magnet. It’s a liability suit looking to happen. It’s a minor miracle the hospital would take me.”

“What if you get hurt?” Bucky challenges.

“Workman’s comp,” you remind, “What happens if you get shot? What happens if any of the shit you’re paranoid about happens?”

“I don’t like it,” he growls.

“And I don’t like sitting at home all day. So here we are.”

You fold your arms and stare at him, jaw set, and Nova comes to sit between your feet. Sitting between you and Bucky. Even if she loves Bucky, she doesn’t love him as much as she loves and wants to protect you. You’re her mom. The Alpha Female in the house. Even if she’s a puppy, all stiff legs and too big ears and feet, she’s gonna do what she’s been trained to do and get in the way.

Bucky sighs, “If you get hurt, you’re not going back.”

“You can’t stop me,” you tell him warningly.

“I can,” he acknowledged gently, aware that he’d stepped into some dangerous territory from your tone of voice, “I just want you safe, baby.”

“Ships are safe in harbor, but that’s now what ships are for,” you tell him.

“You’re not a ship. You’re my girl,” he says, careful not to approach you too quickly, backing off when Nova stands up. In the back of his mind, he’s dimly aware that perhaps getting you a guard dog might not have been his best plan, but. He’s also glad you have her. “You’re my girl, and it’s my job to protect you.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” you sigh, “I’m a grown fucking woman.”

“And you’re mine,” Bucky says helplessly. He hates the look on your face right now. He hates that you feel like you have to do this. He hates that you’re doing this. He just. He wants you to stay home and do pretty girl things. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and turn away, “No one’s saying that I’m not yours,” you tell him, “What I am doing is going to work. I’ve got $12 left in my bank account, and I gotta start over somewhere.”

Bucky feels a muscle in his jaw tick. He’s not used to this much opposition. Someone as stubborn as him. He’d told you and told you and told you to use your credit card. And you had. Once. To buy yourself a few new books. He watches you walk out of the bedroom. He hears you telling Nova goodbye, kissing her nose and telling her to be a good girl. And his chest hurts. He feels like an asshole starting a fight with you before work. Picking at you like that. He knows that you don’t want to do this. And he respects that you don’t want to live off of him. Even if you don’t hardly ask for anything to start with. He groans and rests his forehead on his palm for a second, he should have just told you that he loved you and to have an excellent first day. That he’d bring you lunch. 

He got to his feet and sighed, looking at Nova lying in front of the door looking lost. “Nova,” he said, smiling, “I know. But Ma’s coming home. I promise.”

The puppy looks up at him with a huff and lays her head on her paws, and Bucky shakes his head, “You and your ma are both stubborn,” he scolds fondly. The dog doesn’t move her head, intent, seemingly, on willing you into coming home. 

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxed, picking up her leash, “You can come to work with me today.”

The puppy looked at him, big brown eyes slightly accusing, but when he clipped the leash to her collar, she followed. Behaving. Or at least, trying to behave the way she did for you on the way to his office. 

___________

When he walked into the building, Nova at his side, Natasha looked up from where she was giving someone the tongue lashing of a lifetime.

“You’re late,” she scolded.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, mentally adding her to the list of women that were currently irritated at him. You. His mother. And now, Natasha. Though the reason his mother was annoyed at him was sort of connected to you. And the fact that he moved you into his house and marriage hadn’t been discussed. 

He supposed it should be heartwarming that his ma liked you as much as she did. Enough that she was probably gonna cook dinner for you tonight so you could relax after your first day back at work. But right now, after the nagging phone call, he just got, and the conversation that he had with you before you left made him feel raw. 

Natasha fell into step beside him and sighed, “Trouble in paradise?” she asked.

“Nothing that couldn’t have been avoided if I shut my fucking mouth,” he said, letting Nova off her leash so she could curl up on her pillow. 

Natasha quirked an eyebrow, waiting for elaboration, and Bucky sighed, “Y/N started her job today.”

“I know,” she said, “She sent me a picture of her new office.”

“Yeah, well… I- I pissed her off this morning.”

“Bucky,” Nat scolded, “Christ. You know-”

“Yeah,” he snapped, “I fucking know.”

“Look, Bucky,” Natasha sighed, tone gentling, “This is the price you pay for having a girl that has her shit together. You have to bring your fucking A-game. All the time.”

Bucky shook his head and groaned, “I just- I just want her to be happy.”

“No,” Nat corrected, “You want her to be happy in a way that makes you happy.”


	14. Chapter 14

You let yourself into the apartment and sighed. You could hear Winnifred in the kitchen. She was cooking, and whatever it was was probably delicious, but the last thing you wanted was to eat. 

It had been a long time since you’d had to do holds. Or walk that much in a single shift. And every muscle in your body hurt. All you wanted was a shower and to faceplant onto the bed and never move ever again. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Winnifred said, smiling as you walk around the corner, “How was your first day?”

You smile a little and set your work bag in its designated chair, “It was… A day. Long but… Educational.”

“So basically it was hell on Earth, and you hate it, but you’re going back tomorrow because Bucky pissed you off?

“Yup,” you say, helping yourself to a soda out of the fridge.

Winnifred shook her head, “Y/N,” she said, “Are you just gonna keep being mad?”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m not really even mad now. I just need him to understand that I’m independent. And it serves me well. Really well. And I can’t just live off of him. It feels gross. He’s not an ATM. He’s my partner. And he deserves better than that.”

She smiles a little, “I knew you were a good girl.” She leans over the counter and chucks you under the chin gently, “But baby girl, you’ve gotta let him do stuff for you… It makes him happy. He knows you don’t wanna live off of him… But he also doesn’t want you to take a job that makes you miserable.”

“I know,” you sigh, “I really do… I guess it just pisses me off because I DON’T want this job. I want my old job. I want my old staff. I want to do more than bitch work and putting out fires all day.”

“Literal fires?”

“Once,” you say, sighing. 

“Holy shit,” she hissed, “Why?”

“Because they were cold,” you answer simply, “And that’s why we don’t have lighters on the unit.”

“Sweetheart,” she sighed.

“It’s okay… I just. I need a job. I need to ride this out until someone gets fired for smoking a joint in a bathroom or something, and what happened to me doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Jesus,” she sighed. 

“I know, right… Do we have wine?”

“Do we have wine?” she scoffed, “Baby, I bought two bottles. Just for you.”

“I love you,” you tell her, taking the bottle she proffers from around the corner and taking a pull.

“I love you too,” she said, giggling. 

______

Bucky listened outside the apartment door with Nova. He could hear his ma giggling and the clatter of dishes. 

Domestic sounds. Calm sounds. He wonders if you’re home yet, but then, He’s willing to bet that if his ma is giggling, you’re home. You have a way of telling stories that makes even mundane things funny. 

Nova paws anxiously at the door. Eager to be home and chewing the bone, she left in her bed. And getting some pats from her mom. So Bucky opens the door and takes the leash and harness off of her so she could get her pets.

The dog bolts into the apartment, immediately going to find you and beg for attention like she hadn’t been petted or cuddled at all, all day. 

“Hey, Pretty Paws,” you murmur, rubbing her ears and kissing her nose.

Bucky kissed his mother hello and gave you a second, knowing full well that Nova wasn’t gonna let you up until she’d extracted all her desired attention from you.

When Nova had been sufficiently loved on, she drifted away to get pets from his Ma, and you stood up slowly. “Hey,” you murmur.

“Hey, baby girl,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up to kiss you hello.

Winnifred slips around the corner and gives the two of you just a moment. And takes a minute to slip her grandpuppy a few treats. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmured, “About this morning… I know. I know this isn’t what you want. And that you’re stuck. I shoulda been more supportive and not tried to muscle you into doing what I wanted.”

“I just,” You sigh and wrap your arms around his waist. “I need to start somewhere, Bucky. I know it’s dangerous. I know you’re worried… But.”

“I know,” Bucky said softly, “I do. I really do.” He kisses you softly again, “I shoulda said this earlier, baby. But… I am proud of you. No one would blame you if you just curled up and stayed down. And here you are. Telling every last one of them to fuck off because they can’t stop you. Baby… They should be terrified. You’re gunning for them.”

You smile a little, and Bucky feels his heart flutter. “And I can’t wait to watch you make them all regret like they did you. I really can’t… I just don’t want you to feel like you HAVE to do this. Just for money.”

“It isn’t,” you tell him softly. “I just… I just need to be working.”

Bucky takes the bottle from your hand and takes a pull with a soft smile, “I know that too,” he said. “And I should know better than to try and press you into doing what I want… now. let’s get some food in you, so you’re not too hungover for work tomorrow.”

“I’m not drunk,” you protest.

“Yet,” Winnifred added fondly.

“Yet,” you allow, rolling your eyes.

“So,” Bucky said, chuckling, “Food. And a shower. You need to get wound down after… whatever happened today.”

“I heard rumors of a real fire,” Winnifred said from the kitchen where she started making plates. 

“Fire?” Bucky said, quirking an eyebrow, looking down at you.

“They were cold,” you say, shrugging, “It happens.”

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed. 

“Dementia,” you murmur, yawning. “It happens. Just take the lighters and make sure you know the fire alarm codes.”

“Fucking Fierce,” he murmurs, “my brave girl.”


	15. Chapter 15

It had been a long day by the time let himself into the house. Nova greeted him at the door, tail wagging and fussing at him to get his attention. “Hey, beautiful,” he says, rubbing her ears, “Is your ma home already?” Nova woofs softly and pads towards the bedroom. And your side of the bed, where she lays when no one’s home. Bucky follows and nods to himself when he hears the bathtub filling and smiles a little.

“Hey, baby,” he says softly.

“Tough day, handsome?” you ask, crossing the floor and pulling him down for a kiss hello

“Yeah,” he sighs, “Going straight is some bullshit, sometimes.”

You smile a little and start working the buttons on his shirt, “Well,” you murmur, “I haven’t been shot in a while. So. there’s that.”

“That’s true,” he snorted, untying your robe so he could touch skin. You were always so perfectly soft. And warm. Reassuringly solid. Just what he needed after a long day. A physical reminder of what he was doing this for. The price he wasn’t willing to pay. The pain he watched you go through. Almost losing you. That had been too much. 

The world was different than it had been for his father and grandfather. Bigger. More brutal. The cope of ethics that had served them all before no longer applied. The honor among thieves was gone. And he couldn’t bear the thought of you being taken away from him for good. Not his girl. 

“Come cuddle?” you ask, kissing his jaw. 

Bucky needs no second invitation to the warm bath. He likes this kind of thing, though he’d never admit to it. He lets his head fall back with a sigh and smiles a little when you come to straddle his lap. “So it’s like this, huh?” He smiles a little and opens his eyes slowly. 

“I’ve been lonely this week,” you murmur. Not accusing him, he knows. Just telling him. You want his attention, and you’d like it now. 

“I know,” he murmured, hissing softly when you slip him inside you, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“You’re here now,” you soothe, wrapping around him for comfort and hiding your face in his neck.

“I am,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you. “And we,” he chuckled, “Have an anniversary to plan.”

“Oh? But-”

“Next week is a year since I walked into that shitty little diner and ordered some fucking thing,” he said, smiling a little. 

You smile a little, “How’d you remember that?”

“Because I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since,” he said, grinning. “I think I ate more Patty melts that three months than I ever had in my life.”

You giggle and snuggle into him, insistently, “Probably.”

“You got anything in mind?” he asks, stroking your back.

“Can we go hiking?” you ask. 

“Hiking?” he answers, confused. Part of him still expected you to demand a trip to Paris or Milan. Or a shopping spree. Or something. “I dunno,” he said hesitating. Sure, he was in good shape. But not outdoor shape. “I’m not much for roughin’ it, doll.”

“Nova and I will teach you,” you plead hopefully, “We’ll take an easy trail.”

“Easy trail,” Bucky snorted, “Baby. I just-” He stops when your face falls. You look so disappointed for just a second. How many dinners in fancy restaurants had you suffered through for his sake? How many times had you let his ma drag you to expensive stores for clothes to wear to said dinners and parties? And you hated every second of it. But you did it. Every time he asked. Without doing much more than crinkling your nose a little. “You know what,” he said, smiling a little, “I’d love to. I’ve never been on a Nova ramble.”

And when your face lights up, Bucky smiles. All you wanted was his time. His attention. The presents were lovely. You appreciate them. The clothes and fancy dinners and stuff. But all you really want is him. “We’ll have a good day, I promise,” you tell him, kissing him, nipping his lip eagerly. 

“We will?” he chuckled. 

“I promise. I’ll pack snacks and everything,” you tell him. 

“Just snacks?” he teases.

“I could pack a picnic if you wanted,” you murmur, not wanting him to be disappointed. 

“You pack whatever you want, baby,” he murmurs, rolling his hips up gently. “We’re just gonna take us a little walk.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he murmurs, kissing your nose. “You just tell me where to be.”

“Before we do that I have other plans for you,” you tell him smirking. 

“And what would those be?” he hummed, hands sliding down to knead your hips lovingly. 

“I want you to fuck my brains out,” you tell him, pouting a little. 

“You weren’t kidding,” he chuckled, “You did miss me.”

“Toys aren’t as much fun without you,” you tell him. 

Bucky makes a soft scandalized noise, “You used your toys without me?”

“You weren’t home to help,” you remind him.

Bucky tuts softly and reaches between you and gently strokes against your clit softly, “I’m home now,” he rumbles, “And it feels like I’ve got a lot of work to do.” He shakes his head “I neglected my girl, I shoulda come home sooner... You feel like you’re gonna burst.”

“Bucky,” you whine, biting your lip. 

“Shh,” he scolds gently, “You just relax and let me have my way, huh, Princess?”

“You always get your way,” you pout, whimpering softly when he tries to take his hand away. 

“And you love it every time,” he said, a hungry smile stretching across his face.

__________

In the dark of the bedroom, your head on his shoulder as you trace the myriad of scars on his body with gentle fingers. Bucky relaxes into the touch, jerking occasionally when you tickle him as you brush across the scar tissue. “I love you,” he says softly.

For a long moment, you’re quiet. Very quiet. And still. Bucky feels himself frown, worried for a second about how you’re feeling. Quiet usually means something horrible is happening in your head. “Bucky?” you ask finally. After the silence had seemed to stretch on forever. 

“Hmm?” he answers, carding fingers through your hair. 

“Can we have a baby?” you ask. 

Bucky stops for a second and tilts your chin up, “Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, smiling a little. 

“Then, yeah,” he says smiling, kissing you softly, “But not til I marry you. Ma would have my ass.”

You pout and look up at him with big puppy dogs eyes and he laughs, “Sweetheart, don’t.”

“But I want a baby,” you pout. 

“And I’ll give you one,” he says kissing your nose, “Just as soon as I put a ring on you... I’m not gonna let you pout your way out of this one baby.


End file.
